


Trussed and Trust

by forensicsandwands



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Ass Play, F/M, First Time, Light Bondage, PWP, Power Dynamics, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 03:37:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3312443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forensicsandwands/pseuds/forensicsandwands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of Luther Braxton, Lizzie needs to reclaim some of her power and control back. Red is happy to oblige her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trussed and Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine, I own no character and make no profit whatsoever.

“On your knees. Hands behind your back.” There’s a bite in her words, and though his body protests, he willingly slides to the dirt covered concrete floor, awkward with the blindfold and her hand at his shoulder, shoving as though she would have expected anything other than acquiescence from him after…well after everything that’s happened. It’s awkward, no matter how many bags go over his head, Red is accustomed to seeing everything, doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like being this vulnerable. 

 

The string of the blindfold cuts into the gash across his head, and he can feel it begin to seep blood again, his own and countless others’ blood coating his visible skin, dirt and sweat and gun smoke clinging to him. The smell of death. It’s just as strong on her; he can’t bear to think how many scars she has on account of him, how many have been left dead in her wake.

 

He can’t deny the curl of heat that it generates in him, though.

 

It must show on his face, or maybe in the way that his breath hitches when her slim and capable hands skate across his short-cropped hair; in the surge of arousal when Lizzie whispers in his ear, voice dangerous and rough, bourbon and honey sliding over him.

 

“You do not get to touch me. Understood?”

 

Red whimpers, the sound catching in his throat like it’s too big to escape or to swallow down.

 

“Yes,” he whispers, shivers rippling through his frame, muscles still feeling the sting of hyperextension from lifting the giant brute, Braxton to his death. He may have taken the slight on his willingness to get into the dirt of his business a little too seriously.

 

Her hands slip to his neck, his tie already loose, she rubs her calloused thumb over the small scar over his carotid. A small sound bubbles in her throat, but she roughly removes the expensive Zegna with little preamble. Her chest is pressed against his shoulders as she leans over him, and she moves with the grace that her age allows her to kneel in front of him.

 

He wishes he could see, but he's kind of glad he can't. Can't see Lizzie’s face, her eyes dilated, pupils spread black with only a ring of blue, hot with desire. He can feel her breath, staccato and searing, burning as she assesses him. She removes his belt and lowers his pants with an almost clinical touch, a groan bubbling out of him as his cock meets the cold air. The quiet of the room is dense, and he can hear the sound of her tongue fattening up inside her cheeks, raising and pressing against the top of her teeth before running across her cracked lips.

 

She slides the tie over his now rock hard erection, tightening the knot back up fast and tight at the base of his cock, and he grunts at the unexpected pressure. On her feet again, Liz presses herself up close behind Red, wrapping his tie around her fist until it meets the base of his throat. She gives it a hard tug, enough to make Red’s breathing hitch.

 

“You like that, Red? Hmmm?” her voice rough, what he imagines she sounds like first thing in the morning, as she gives another tug. He moans deep in his throat, pushing his hips back, trying to gain any kind of friction and Liz leans into it, forgetting herself momentarily. She works the collar of his shirt low enough to lick at the blood and sweat slick skin of his throat, his pulse beating a frenzied pattern across her tongue. Heat and salt and the flavour of death and Liz feels she must be in hell to have the taste of it on her tongue, but figures that it must be where she belongs. If love is being powerless, she's feeling a desperate need to assert hers.

 

Pressing her trigger fingers against his lips, burning hot, branding him. “Open.”

 

No room for argument; the taste of gunpowder and the cloying flavour of her earlier fear, a heavy taste as solid as the pulse thudding in his chest, in the numerous wounds scattered across his head, in his dick.

 

“Suck it, Reddington. Let me see how much you want the real thing.” Lizzie pushes a little harder, pressing in against Red’s bottom lip. “Tongue out, taste me. Go on, just like you’d lick my cunt.” He moans as much at the taste as he does the harsh language and tone, mimicking the hard lines of her taut body. “Always bragging about how much you love the flavor of a good woman, aren’t you Red? Lick it, nice and slow, taste it all over. Show me how you’re going to do me if you get that far.”

 

The words burn their way into Red's brain; slither down his spine and along his nerve endings. He licks over the end of her manicured nails, hard and slick against his lip, over his tongue. Red whimpers as she tightens the tie just a little bit more, he can feel a wealth of precome oozing down his hot flesh as he flicks his tongue across her palm, aiming for the raised scar of her wrist.

 

“Fuck, yes.” Liz groans, and the heat tightens low in Red’s belly, cock throbbing against the tie. “Should see how you look. Undone. You’re hot for it aren’t you? Show me, Red. Show me how much you want it.”

 

It’s nothing like what he imagined it would be like with Lizzie. Nothing like the gentle first time he fantasized, the hours he would willingly spend lapping at her folds. It’s the wrong shape, the wrong flavour, wrong everything. Hard and unyielding, stretching his mouth, bruising the soft skin of the inside of his mouth, probably the only place that hadn’t been injured over the course of the last several days. Pushes harder. Further.

 

Red whines around the curl of her fingers, the heat simmering in his belly exploding into a fireball that streaks through him as she pushes him onto all fours. A loud pop sound rings out across the room as she removes her fingers from his mouth; his face is wet, spit slick over his chin, dripping down to his ruined shirt. Soft-hard heat brushes against the ring of tight muscle, smearing sticky-wet over it. Red’s whole body shudders and shifts, wanting to touch himself, rub his cock to soothe the ache.  


"Not yet," Liz growls, catching the movement, pulling on the Zegna again. "No touching.”

 

Despite the utter control that she has over the situation, over him entirely, she is still Lizzie, still concerned with the welfare of others despite her experiences. Or maybe because of them. “Will you let me? Let me fuck that pretty ass of yours?” Liz can feel Red shivering. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? Like to feel your spit inside of you, feel my scar against you? I’ll make you scream, Red.”

 

Red’s breath is laboured, and Liz can feel him practically vibrating with need, with anticipation.  


“But you have to ask me, Red. You have to ask me to do this, beg me, just so I’m sure you really want it.” Liz feels, rather than hears, the hitch in Red’s breathing.  


That gravelled voice that has coiled deep in her since she first met him, bursts out with a ragged entreaty. “Jesus Lizzie, yes, please.”

 

“You can’t stop, because you need it, don’t you? Need me. You fell for the mark, didn’t you Red? Because I’m the only one who knows, knows all the secret, naughty, fucking  _dirty_  things you like to do. We’re the same, that’s why.”  


The moan that’s dragged from Red’s throat is pure lust and instantly Lizzie’s fingers go from rubbing soothing circles to being inside him. The temperature contrast has them both moaning, he’s hotter than her gun after she’s taken out a slew of enemies. Red pushes his hips back, forcing more of Lizzie’s fingers inside of him, the sensitive skin of her scarred wrist rubbing along his ass.

 

With both hands occupied, Liz licks a stripe up Red’s neck to his ear and down, sucking a hard mark onto the exposed flesh over his pulse. The muscles around Lizzie's fingers - two now - tense-flexed like Red wants even more. He probably does, the greedy bastard, and so she slips a third finger in.

 

The needy sounds that bubble out of Red’s chest are curling up to smolder in the pit of Lizzie’s stomach, her panties drenched with need. Lizzie works her fingers - hitting the prostate once, hard, twice - and pulls them free. Red groans at the loss, but Liz cuts him off short.

 

"You want to taste me, Red?" she moans into his ear, not even trying to hide how turned on she is right then.

 

A desperate grunt finds it’s way past his lips and he feels her shift behind him. He feels the lacy fabric trace a burning line across his bruised and swollen cheek. Red’s eyes widen behind the blindfold, and his groan rumbles against Lizzie’s chest. “Do it,” he agrees and Liz smirks at his breathless willingness, balling up her panties before shoving them into his mouth. The taste of sweat and her desire are sharp on his tongue and he moans, the sound barely dampened by the expensive wad of lace. She hums in satisfaction, and twists the tie in her fist again.

 

Saliva slides past Red’s gagged mouth, austere Raymond Reddington, blindfolded and begging for more, drooling around her panties, down his chin, and before shuffling back, Lizzie leans in to lick it up before it can drip onto his shirt. Red’s cock jerks and leaks, preejaculate smearing his stomach where his shirt has ridden up, where the tie is holding him against gravity. Red groans at the thought of her fingers inside him again, panties _soaked_ inside his mouth. A mirthless laugh from Liz at his damp shoulder and she’s inside him again, picking up the pace, hitting his prostate with every curl of her fingers.

 

Her left hand pulls the tie all the way around her fist, loosening the knot and rearranging it so she can tighten her fingers around his impossibly hard cock. “Get off, Red,” Lizzie whispers, fisting his cock and ignoring the tingle of pleasure up and down her own spine. “Come all over yourself and let me watch you clean yourself up with my panties, Red.”

 

Red swallows a sharp moan and his back arches, the raised imprint of his scars visible through his shirt, cock spurting, scream finding it’s way around the lace as Lizzie slows her fist, squeezing every last bit of his release from his body. He’s tight around her fingers, and as she slips out of him it’s hard to tell where the moan comes from.

 

She catches her breath and pulls the ruined panties from Red’s slack and pliant mouth. He moves to kiss her and she slaps him, hard, the sound reverberating around the room. Liz wipes his ass and belly clean with the wet panties, shoving them in her pocket and raising herself on slightly shaky legs before grabbing her jacket and gun and leaving without a word, leaving Red, still blindfolded, splayed out on the cold concrete floor.


End file.
